Lean On Me
by NerdAngel
Summary: One shot that takes place during season 9 finale "Do You Believe in Miracles?". Rated T for language.


**A/n: This is something that just kind of came to me Thursday. I know I've done quite a few like this already, but here's another anyways.**

 **This takes place during season 9 finale "Do You Believe In Miracles?" and has some slight mentions of the season as well as spoilers for season 2 and 8.**

 **I don't own Supernatural or its characters.**

Lean On Me

 _Damn it!_

I come to and the moment I can see well enough and remember where I am and where I'm suppose to be, I'm on my feet at a quick paced jog.

I don't know who I'm more mad at; my brother for having knocked me out and put me out of commission for yet another boss fight (no doubt as another attempt at keeping "Sammy" safe), or myself for having let my guard down around Dean. Especially knowing all too well my brother and brother's current condition. No, scratch that, I do know who I'm more mad at. Not that it should come as any sort of surprise to me that Dean would go behind my back and against our agreement. Under cursed influences or not. Why should I have? It's practically the Dean Winchester M.O.. I'm never treated like an equal when it comes to him. I haven't been all my life, why would now be any different? For a second I regard this as at least a semi good thing since it shows my brother is still at least sort of in control, but then when I think a bit longer, maybe it's not. The Mark that now occupies Dean's arm loves nothing more than to destroy living things, combine that with the jaw of an ass known as the First Blade and an incredibly skilled killer with the desire to dismember a douchebag angel, and you have a force to be reckon with. But I can be too. Once I catch up with Dean and help take that bag of dicks angel down, I was going to rip my brother a new one for running off alone straight into danger for the umpteenth time. I don't care if it's his M.O., this needs to stop.

Coming down a flight of metal stairs, still a bit disoriented, I'm greeted by what looks like a group of homeless encampmers. They begin to block my path and move towards me. I bring my right hand which grasps my handgun up and aim it at them.

"Stay back," I warn them. My voice not as demanding as I had meant for it to sound. They immediately raise their hands in a show of no harm and begin to back up. Some trip over others as they do so. I find my voice. "STAY BACK!" I demand and mean it this time. It's never custom for us to hurt a human, but right now Meatron's flock was standing in the way of me and my brother. "Where's Metatron?!" There's murmured words, shifting eyes, and shaking fingers that point all in the same direction. I don't lower my gun and I don't move my eyes from the homless pack as I quickly make my way into the building they refer to.

Just as I round what looks like metal shelves, something catches my attention. A second glance shows me it's Dean. I feel relief start to calm my pounding heart, but it's short lived as one of the sickest sounds I've ever heard meets with the most sickening sight I could ever see. All anger towards my brother is drained from me. Dean lets out a pained breath of surprise as an angel blade is thrust into his chest. I stare frozen at the sight, unable to do anything other than watch in horror as the angel gives the blade a "fuck you" twist. I feel like I'm watching it all in slow motion. Like the moment the blade pierced through my brother, it also managed to slow down time itself. "NOOO!" I realize the word is being shouted from me as I watch Metatron remove the weapon, but keeping a fierce stare on my brother. My voice brings both pairs of eyes on me, but it's only the green ones that I'm interested in. The look on my brother's face is haunting. His mouth is open and I can't decide if it's because he's trying his best to breath, or if he's trying to say something. But his eyes are the worse. As we stare at each other neither of our attentions wandering, I can see something that pains me to see. For a man who just got stabbed in the chest, you'd think you'd see pain or fear, but what I see is worse. It was surprise. As if he was shocked to see me standing there looking at him with no doubt the look of sheer terror in my own eyes. Like he was surprised that I had run after him once I came to. There was little doubt in my mind that he had assumed that once I woke up and found myself once again coming out of a knock out, that I would be so angry that I'd say "fuck it" and leave him. I know we'd made an agreement plan but I thought Dean knew me better than that. Than to think I'd just leave him to take on Metatron alone who was not exactly just the messenger of God anymore, but powered by the word of God to boot.

I watch Dean slide from the wall he's been leaning up against and fall to the concrete floor. Eyes open I pray he's still alive. I regain the ability to move and run towards him, ignoring my protesting shaky legs that threaten to give out on me. I race past Metatron not even giving him so much as a glance and quickly begin to gently pull Dean back into sitting position resting his back against the wall once more. "Hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey." Once up I remove my hands from him, afraid and unsure on where I could put them that wouldn't hurt him further. Instead they hang openly out like I'm expecting to have to catch him either direction should he fall again. Now I see the pain that I had expected to see earlier though looking at his face, I almost don't recognize it under his own blood and swelling. Not even his eyes are the right color, too dark and too heavy. At least darker and heavier than they have been as of late.

There's the sound of thunder and the place begins to rumble. We both look around and my eyes fall on Metatron who looks confused as he stares above him. In all reality it had been stupid for me to not have tried to do at least something about him first or at the very least I should have kept him in my line of sight, but the sight of Dean distracted me from seeing anything other than my brother with a stab wound. If he's baffled by all the ruckus, than that can only mean Cas and Gadreel have succeed in their part of the plan and Merton is no longer juiced up by the tablet. I waste no time in pulling an angel blade from inside a hidden pocket in my jacket, and with a yell I move to give the dick angel the payback he deserves. Unfortunately, even without the added power, he's still an angel and he's gone before I can inflect any damage. I'm stunned for only a second before my brother's pained grunts and attempts of breaths brings me back to his side. I've been through enough injuries to know what needs to happen. First, I need to stop the bleeding. I frantically spring into action removing a handkerchief from my pocket and immediately applying as much pressure as I can to the angry growing red spot on Dean's clothes.

"Sammy, you got to get out of here before he comes back." His voice shakes and it scares me more though his words frustrate me. Here he is having just been stabbed in the chest and he's still more concerned about my safety and well being than his own. I should know better by now that even though I want nothing more than to drill it into his brain that he can't keep being like this, it's pointless. No matter how angry I get with him about it, he's never going to change. He calls me stubborn, but it's really more of a Winchester trait. I suddenly wish I had the same power, the same hold on Dean as Dad had had on him. He'd listen to him.

"Shh. Shh. Shh. Shh." I'm half trying to calm him half trying to talk to him. "Shut up. Shut up." I move his hand, also bloody from no doubt his own blood, and place it where my hand is holding the cloth. It's cold. "Just save your energy, all right?" I beg not wanting him to over exert himself. I notice he cringes when I press down on the wound a little harder with my hand on his to ensure it was being done correctly.

"Oh man," he cries out but I barely hear it over my own ramblings. It was time for me to be the Dean Winchester here. More often than not it was Dean who was the one who comforted me and protected me and saved me, in fact it wasn't that long ago that he had talked me off the proverbial ledge. When was that? A year ago? It couldn't be? Could it? Was the world really that close to ending again? I'm not sure why I'm surprised, whenever a Winchester was around, an apocalyptic opportunity was bound to arise. But not this time. This time it's my turn to be the comforter, the protector, the savior.

"We'll stop the bleeding," I promise. "We'll-we'll get you a doctor - or I'll find a spell...You're gonna be okay." I honestly can't tell you if I was spewling all that to reassure and comfort Dean or myself. My left hand is now gently resting on his right shoulder and I notice his eyes are disappearing more and more behind his eyelids. Blood loss. I don't want him to pass out, I need him to be able to walk. I need him to stay with me.

"Listen to me," he starts. For a split second his eyes are wide but they slowly begin to sink again. "It's better this way."

I can't believe the words coming from his mouth. "What?" I give him a look that I hope doesn't look too angry or disapproving but I can't help it if it does.

"The Mark. It's making me into something I don't want to be."

If the look of my brother had terrified me, than his words had damn near given me a heart attack. It wasn't even what he said, but how he said it. I've seen my brother afraid only a few times in all my life, I mean really afraid. Most of those times were when someone he cared about was close to if not in a fatal position. So with lives like ours and a loss count that never seems to stop growing, you can imagine I've seen him scared. But I never heard him terrified of himself. Yes he has enough self-loathing to choke a horse, but he wasn't scared of himself. Not until now anyways. Dean is always willing to be the martyr of the family, and although he'll never admit it, I know this goes beyond his self-loathing. This goes back to the first moment he started connecting the dots of his miraculous recovery to Dad's unexpected out of the blue death. It's no secret now that Dad died to save Dean, but it's also no secret that Dean tries his best to make up for it. Thinking that it should have been him who died and Dad should have lived, he doesn't really value his life much. He's always willing to throw it away if it means saving someone else he deems more worthy. That someone nine times out of ten being me. I don't want to hear my brother talk like this. I don't want him to look down on himself any more than he already does and of course I don't want him to be someone he isn't or be afraid of himself, but I also refuse to let him die because of it. Not on my watch.

"Don't worry about the Mark," I try to act like the curse he's taken on is nothing more than a rash that can be gotten rid of. Like we could just waltz into a drugstore and buy a cream that when applied to the infected area will make the Mark of Cain go away. But we both know that the symbol on his arm is only a visual. The actual Mark, the real problem, has taken up residence inside my brother. And no cream or pill can fix that. "We'll figure out the Mark later. Just hold on, okay?" Dean's fading, we've gotta go. "Give me some help," I say as I try to pull him to his feet. It's not easy. "Alright help me out," I demand. Finally he's more or less up. I wrap my right arm tight around him providing support, his left arm is hung around my neck, his hand grasping onto my jacket. My left hand is pressed to his right hand which applies pressure to his wound. My legs though still shaky are the ones that are really the transport in this moment, but Dean is still doing a bit of his own walking too. Though I'm determined to get to the Impala, I realize this is the closest physically I've been to my brother in a long time. Not close in the way the fangirls from Chuck's books write us in their perverted fantasies, Dean often times likes to give me a pat for encouragement or support, sometimes when joking around. Every now again he might slap me on the backside of my head when I say or do something he doesn't approve of or a pat on the back to show that he's proud. I'll even admit he's the one that usually initiates most hugs. All in good nature. All to show he's there. But for the last...I don't know...few...several months, we can barely stand to be in the same room as each other. Often times giving a good several inches distance between us. But now, I'm holding onto my brother for dear life. I can tell he's trying to position himself so that he's not leaning into me so much. "It's alright," I reassure him. "It's ok Dean, you can lean a bit more."

I'm beginning to cuss us for not having parked closer. Those metal stairs are going to be a bitch.

"What happened with you being ok with this?" He asks me pulling me out of my thoughts.

So I had been right about what I had seen when he first saw me. He had thought I'd just run off and leave him to die. I fight back the urge to scold him for even thinking I would do such a thing, angry at him or not. Hadn't I learned my lesson about abandoning my brother? My eyes still stay determined and locked on the path ahead of me as I answer simply and truthfully "I lied." He leans a bit more and although it does put strain on me and I can feel him start to stumble more and more, I don't mind.

"Ain't that a bitch?" I suppress the urge once again to chew him out and tell him how he's going to be fine and don't say things ominous like that, and instead keep silent as I half walk half drag my brother towards safety.

We don't get to much further before I'm starting to realize that I'm now completely the support beam, the pressure applier, and the transportation caring at least 165 extra pounds of weight.

"Sam. Hold up."

"You gotta help out here Dean."

"Hold up."

I can feel him wilting off of me giving me no other choice but to oblige him as he drops onto a pile of palettes. With shaky breaths he moves himself so that he's perched on the wood, he's eyes back to near closed. We're running out of time. I can't imagine how hard this is on him, but we have to keep moving. Though he's no longer in my hold, I still have my hand pressed firmly on his crimson wound, and the other is now on his shoulder in terms of both support so he doesn't fall over and a means to show I'm still here. His lips part a bit and what I think is a ghost of a smile flickers across them and is gone before I can even say with certainty that that was what it had been. His eyes temporarily close.

"I got to say something to you," he opens them again. I can tell its hard for him to talk but I can also tell it means a lot to him that he does. Terrified I look into his 'not quite the Dean I know' heavily lidded eyes. Why are we stopping? Couldn't he tell me later? Or as we're walking?

"What?" I try not to but I can't help but grow more and more terrified as I watch him struggle to function. His breathing isn't right, his eyes aren't right, his voice isn't right. Nothing about him or this is right or normal and it's scaring the hell out of me.

"I'm proud of us."

My eyes begin to mist and I feel the corners of my own mouth tug into a small smile as he slaps a cold hand affectionately on my cheek. He didn't say sorry he didn't have to. In this moment those words are everything that needs to be said and needs to be heard. We have gone through a lot of shit my brother and I. Everything from really high ups to really low downs and everything in between. He'd reached his lowest, if you ask me, a few months back when he had tricked me into a choice I hadn't really wanted to make and then kept it from me. Although I have given him my fair share of cold words and shoulders, it doesn't change the fact that he is still my brother. And I love him. This of course was everything Dean was saying to me too. Just in few strained words. We were good, as he always put it. Differences aside, we always have each other's backs and each other. Whatever fights we may have, whatever words exchanged, we are proud to call one another brother and know that we will always be there for one another. Even if it means we have to beat the crap out of each other and cuss each other out from time to time.

My smile is short lived however. No sooner have the words left his mouth before Dean sways a bit, his eyes roll, his breath is scarcely heard, and its like the look on his face freezes. He falls forward and I quickly rise to catch him in my arms before he can face-plant into the concrete floor.

"No, no. Hey, hey, hey." His body is one hundred percent dead weight as I gently push him back up. "Hey, wake up, Buddy." This is what I had feared, why we needed to go. My hands, bloodied from holding Dean and his wound, now cup my brother's face. It's cold just like his hands. "Hey." I look at him, but he's not looking back. My heart's pounding in my chest. He passed out from blood loss, I tell myself. He just needs to wake up so we can get a move on and get him fixed up, that's all. But he doesn't stir and I can't hear even a shallow or attempt of breathing. My face morphs to desperation. I need Dean to wake up. I need Dean to breath or open his eyes or stir. Something "Dean." Anything. "Dean!" The only sound is my echo calling to my big brother to not be dead. Please don't be dead. Not after everything. We were just getting to be brothers again. I need you Dean. Cold hard realization sets in and I'm reminded once more that my brother who always seems so invincible to me, is not. I can't be in denial any longer. I pull Dean to me, tears not just brimming in my eyes but full on bursting from them as I submerge my brother into an embrace. His face is still in one of my hands while I wrap my other arm around his back and press him so that his head is resting right up against my heaving chest. For the first time in my entire life no matter how long or tight I hold my big brother, he doesn't hug me back.

 _End_

 **A/n: Thank you everyone who reads, reviews, and/or favorites this story.**


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